


Greg Donovan: A Private Journal

by gregdonovan



Series: Greg Donovan at the Sex Arcade [1]
Category: Mass Effect, Metroid Series, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Evil, F/M, Kidnapping, Rape, Torture, kidnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregdonovan/pseuds/gregdonovan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a work of fiction featuring non-consensual sex and violence towards women.  If those topics upset you, then you had best avoid this story. </p>
<p>What makes a man commit evil deeds?  Why does Greg Donovan enjoy hurting women?  Greg tries to explain why he does the things he does.</p>
<p><em>Nota bene:</em><br/>This is a work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A True Sadist

Greg Donovan: A Private Journal

 

I often feel as if there are two people living inside my own head. There is what I think of as the 'Rational' or 'Safe' Greg and the 'Dark' or 'Reckless' Greg. Rational Greg is the most vocal in my thoughts, the one who is constantly looking for the dangers in what I do, demanding I take the safety precautions that have served me so well up to this point.

Dark Greg is the more introverted of the two. He is the one lost in his own urges, re-living past triumphs and reveling in the pain and misery of my unfortunate victims. He rarely speaks, yet when he does his words are all but undeniable.

This journal is the work of Dark Greg. Rational Greg is raging, telling me of the dangers of writing down my thoughts and memories. There is no real benefit to me. Even if I take every precaution to hide this journal, there is still a non-negligible chance that it will be found. And with every passing day, passing week, passing year, the chances of it being found will rise.

I know that everyone will eventually make mistakes, no matter how careful they are. So, too, will I make a mistake and one day my private thoughts will be discovered by someone else. On that day I could very well lose my freedom and even my life.

But Dark Greg demands it be done and so here I am typing away. It as if my hands and fingers are controlled by some outside force. Since I cannot fight it I will put forth my best efforts and strive to make this journal an interesting read.

After all, if anyone finds this I'll just say it's fiction.

I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the reasons for why I do what I do. What makes me commit these despicable crimes? Why do I enjoy hurting women in such a cruel manner? The usual explanations for people like me do not seem to apply. Take my parents, for example.

My mother was an alcoholic, spending most of her afternoons downing glass after glass of red wine. My father, too, was a lush, drinking himself to an early grave at age 54 when his kidney's gave out. His poison of choice was a tear-inducing 'peach brandy' that he brewed himself. Yet this weakness for alcohol has not passed on to me. I rarely drink, hating the loss of control alcohol causes.

Neither of my parents were abusive, either physically or sexually. True, my father was a strict disciplinarian. Our home had a tall pine tree in the front yard, its limbs overshadowing the driveway. In the fall seasons it was my job to keep the driveway swept clean of pine cones and needles. For every crunch my father heard under the wheels of his truck, while returning home from work, meant a punishment. These punishments ranged from a verbal dressing-down to a beating with my father's belt.

I do not hold ill-feeling towards my father for these punishments. He was trying to keep order in his house, like any real man would, while we lived in a condition of often dire poverty. In fact, the discipline he instilled in me, the attention to detail, the will to continue a task until it was completed properly, has served me well.

Yet, I do not torture women to get them to clean driveways or make beds. I am not looking to instill discipline in my victims. I do not care for their well-being like my father cared for mine. I torture them as little as possible, merely for my own pleasures, unlike the punishments my father meted out. We must look elsewhere to find the reason why Dark Greg exists.

My school life cannot explain my crimes. I was not bullied as a child, mostly due to my size and strength being greater than most of the other kids at school. And, oddly enough, I have no memories of bullying or picking on any other student, whether male or female. These dark urges I have today do not seem to have fully developed until I was an adult.

I was not a great party-goer in school. Nor did I partake of alcohol or any illegal substance to any great degree while growing up. Of course, I experimented. I got drunk, I got high, I tried the things the other kids were doing simply because I was curious like any other child. But to this day I find I dislike the numbing effect of drugs and alcohol on my faculties. I much prefer to remain clear-headed and fully in control of my actions.

I did have a younger brother who committed suicide at age 19 after enlisting in the military. I cannot deny the loss of my beloved Ralphie had a traumatizing effect on me. But it is hard to see how losing a sibling leads one to be a serial rapist.

So, if the answer cannot be found in my past, how is it that I am the way I am? What events or urges have pushed me into committing these dark deeds? After much careful thought, and careful considerations, the only rational conclusion is that I was born a true Sadist.

What is true sadism? Most would think the wish to inflict pain on others is the essence of sadism. Simply inflicting pain, however, is not my goal. The essential impulse of my sadism, of _true_ sadism, is to have complete mastery over another person, to make her a helpless object of my will, to become the absolute ruler over her, to become her God, to do with her as I please. To humiliate her, to _enslave_ her, are means to this end.

My most important radical aim is to make her _suffer_. There is no greater power over another person than that of inflicting pain on her, to force her to undergo suffering, without her being able to defend herself. The essence, and the penultimate goal, of a true Sadist is to possess _complete and total domination_ _over an unwilling person._

Unwilling is the most important qualifier for the true Sadist. The glorified role-play and juvenile antics of the BDSM enthusiast do not qualify one as a true Sadist. To enact some silly game with a partner, one who trusts you, who has agreed beforehand to submit to you, is wholly unsatisfying. It is only by breaking, _utterly crushing_ , the soul of an unwilling woman that the urges of a true Sadist can be satisfied.

I am a true Sadist. I will make no apologies for that. This journal shall be a record of my deeds, so that the rest of society can see for themselves the actions of a true Sadist.


	2. Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn that the quote from the Soviet general, located below, may not be real. I remember reading it several years ago and I was surprised that a general from the Soviet Union would have said it. But after searching on Google to find it I have come up empty. I decided to include it here because I think it fits nicely into the story and also it seems like something a narcissistic person like Greg Donovan would do. 
> 
> The word 'gospodin' is Russian for 'mister.' I put it in there instead of the more recognizable 'tovarish' because it also seems like a kind of muted bragging, like Donovan is showing off the fact he knows a little bit more about Russian than most Americans do.

I have learned a great many lessons over the years - most learned at the expense of my unfortunate victims.  I have learned how to plan a kidnapping.  How to construct a secure place to hold my playthings.  How best to restrain them without causing major injury.  And, most importantly, how to leave my mark like a true Sadist would.  

  
This requires explanation.  The true Sadist is like an artist whose medium is the soul of their victims and whose tools are pain.  To kill or harm another person is, frankly, no great accomplishment.  I could walk into a MacDonald's tomorrow with an AR-15 and kill dozens.  I could mail bombs to random people across the country.  I could ram my car into a crowd.  I could do all this, and many other extremely violent acts, but no rational person would consider this the work of an artist.  

  
The true Sadist's aim is different from the common criminal or the violently deranged or even other self-proclaimed sadists.  The true Sadist's aim is to mark the _soul_ of his victims not merely their bodies.  

  
Allow me to make a small tangent:  There was a Soviet general who said, in the 1960's, that the "highest form of the military art is to achieve the objective at the lowest cost in human life."  Not only is it surprising to hear this concern for human life from a military leader -  according to one of my DI's the military's job was to "break shit and kill people" -  it is especially surprising that it came from a military leader in the Soviet Union.  The Soviet Union was the land of the gulag, Stalin's purges, political executions, and the mass deportations of _entire ethnicities_.  

  
The Soviet system was one which viewed soldiers as a military resource to be expended in the same manner as tanks or ammo.  Yet this Soviet general, despite the violent culture he lived in, was also a rational being.  He could see  past the harsh views his system had taught him and realized that conserving his soldiers was a rational course of action. I too am a rational being, able to rise above my baser impulses.  So, with due deference to _gospodin_ general, I say "the highest goal of the true Sadist is to mark the soul of his victim using the _lowest amount of physical_ _pain_."

   
I view my victims' souls like a very thin, very valuable vase perched upon a narrow column.  The vase is blank; it being my job as a true Sadist to add colors and ornamentations.  If I press too hard the vase will crack or break, leaving an ugly scar behind.  No-one would commend an artist for breaking the medium they work upon.  If I am especially careless the vase will be knocked to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.  And all the kings horses and all the kings men will never put it back together again.  

  
I must use a very light and deliberate touch.  Hard enough to leave an impression behind.  Hard enough so that anyone who sees the souls of my victims will know, without a doubt, that I have been there, _that I have created this work of art_.  Yet, I must not press hard enough to break the piece of art I am trying to create.  

  
There are some odd impressions floating around about the tools of my trade.  The first being the impact of rape on a woman's mind.  It is often said that murder is the only crime with more lasting impact.  There is an almost Victorian-era quality to our society's beliefs about rape, as if women must be singularly protected from its depredations.  Indeed, _even saying the word 'rape'_ is thought to be so traumatic to women that its every utterance must be preceded by a warning, lest its foul syllables forever stain some innocent maiden's mind.

   
These views on rape seem to treat the penis like the biological equivalent of nerve gas.  A weapon so terrible, so unthinkable, that wielding it will forever destroy any woman unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.  From my own experiences this ballyhoo about rape is vastly over-stated.  Prostitutes experience penetrative sex on a regular basis and since they also form the vast majority of my victims, extra effort beyond intercourse is needed to make a lasting impression.  Simply using my penis on them, after they say no, is not enough.  Indeed, for many rape does not seem to leave any impression at all.

  
So, for the true Sadist, their array of tools must extend beyond their erect penii.  Luckily, for the budding true Sadist, the modern internet hosts a multitude of websites dedicated to the sale of pain-inflicting instruments.  The variety and quality of these instruments varies greatly.  I have found the only way to determine the right instrument for the job is through careful research and trial-and-error.  I will say, however, if I had one motto when it comes to shopping at BDSM websites, it is that 'you get what you pay for.'

  
Once I have all the proper tools acquired, the second step is to create a proper playroom to hold my captives.  For this purpose I have modified a mobile home over the course of several months.  It is located on a rural piece of property, ostensibly bought for use as a deer camp.  I prefer much different prey, however.

  
I've removed all the carpeting and replaced it with tile flooring. Tile flooring being much-resistant to stains.  The original, cheap, wood paneling was ripped out and replaced by sturdy metal roofing panels. (I've found it best to use class-4 UL 2218 or FM 4473 rated material.)  The orginal insulation has been replaced with a thicker, more efficient type.  The gaps between the inner and outer walls have been coated with double layers of 1/8" vinyl sheeting to add sound-proofing.  

  
The windows are covered with storm shutters on the outside and bars on the inside.  The doors have metal-reinforced frames and the door themselves are metal with deadbolts that can only be opened with a key.  All my toys and instruments are in locked chests in areas the captive cannot access.  The AC and heating controls are also located where the captive cannot touch them.  I've found adjusting the temperature inside the playroom can be a very effective method of breaking a captive's will.

  
There are metal rings dead-bolted to the floor in various places.  Several pieces of specially-designed bondage furniture are located inside.  Hidden cameras and microphones are seeded throughout the walls letting me monitor my captives when I am not in the playroom.  All-in-all it took    tens-of-thousands of dollars to create and I am very satisfied with my playroom's performance.  

  
The next step is acquiring the unfortunate captive to place inside the playroom.    
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
